Daughter, Your Faith Has Made You Well
by LucyCrewe11
Summary: Short one-shot told from the point of view of a woman healed by Jesus. Rated K plus for mentions of blood, nothing else. Otherwise, it's actually much closer to a K-rated story. Written in honour of Nisian 14, which falls on today this year.


**AN: Today, for those of you who might not be aware of this, is a very important day. This year Nisian 14, the day Jesus died, falls on today, sunday, after sundown. As I do every year, I will be attending a memorial service and listening to a talk about his death. But I felt the need to do a little something extra. I wanted to do a fic about Jesus to be posted today. However, since I already did one about his death LAST YEAR, I decided to write a piece based on a Bible account that showcased his kindness and mercy. There were so many to choose from, but I picked the story of the woman subject to the flow of blood who was healed by touching Jesus. This is a particarly moving thing to consider when you think about how things were back in those days. According to the letter of the law, this woman should not have been in ANY crowds, being considered unclean because her illness involved a discharge of blood. But when she showed faith, and furthermore, confessed to what she had done, even though it must have been embarrising and frightening for her, Jesus showed true loving kindess with his words, "Daughter your faith has made you well". Anywho, this short one-shot is told from the sick woman's point of view. I tried very, very, very hard to keep this as close to the Bible account as possible, and I hope my additions and embelishments fit into the scene rather than change it. **

**Remember, while you're reading this, that Jesus, someone this kind and gentle, who had/has never done _anything_ wrong in his life, died for mankind. **

Who has known a suffering that is both painful and humiliating at the same time? I have.

I, wrenched woman, sick for twelve years have I been. For a full decade, and two years more, I have been subject to a flow of blood.

You can imagine that besides making me feel very weak and sickly, draining me so that even the smallest task seems like moving a mountain, this has also made me feel as if, in addition, I am also a leper. By the law of land-by the law given from God-a woman with a bloody discharge is unclean; so I am unclean every day. I cannot go to wedding feasts, and rarely is there a situation where I am permitted to visit friends.

Sometimes I feel so alone.

I have sought treatment from endless physicians, but my illness has not improved. If anything, it has been made _worse_. Since my last treatment, my blood flow has been heavier, darker; so dark it is almost more akin to black than to red at times.

There seems no hope to faithless eyes of getting out of this dripping prison my body has become, but I know how I shall get better.

I know for a fact that Jesus, the one talked of far and wide, is in fact the son of God. From the true accounts told, from the things I heard, the things I was persuaded to believe, I have learned to have not blind faith, but the honest faith of knowledge. This Jesus can cure me of my grievous sickness.

Today, he is passing through near where I live. There is a great crowd, pressing close against him, but he still carries on. He is with Jairus, a presiding officer of the synagogue, who's little daughter is very ill; she may even be dying. Jesus goes, I'm sure, to put his hands on her and make her well again.

With such an important errand on his mind, surely my Lord will not notice the passing touch of one woman; one hobbling, anxious woman in need of his help, lost in an uncounted crowd. Here is my chance. I will get well. Today, my suffering is over.

I know the danger. I know I am not supposed to be here, with so many people. This is against the law. Only there is no other way, God forgive me.

Swallowing hard, I timidly elbow my way through the crowd. I am shoved twice, once accidentally and once by someone who was simply being a rude brute. Jolted this way and that, I must preserve; I must reach Jesus before he is gone.

I don't even have to touch _him_. "If touch just his outer garments," I whisper shakily to myself, "I-I shall get well..."

At last. He is right in front of me; his back to me. I have made it. No one has recognized me and said anything. I shall get well, I shall!

Shivering all over, not from cold, but from the anticipation of sheer joy, I, ever so slowly, begin to stretch out my quivering hand.

I lean forward. Can I do this? I must. I must do this.

My hand makes contact.

Warmth and strength flow through my veins and, under me, in my privates, I can feel that the flow of blood has been instantly dried up.

Oh, my happiness is absolute and pure! Free at last! Healed! I am well again!

But then, a voice speaks. "Wait, who touched me?"

No...! My eyes widen to the size of round earthenware vases. He has not... How did he know? Am I dreaming this?

No, it is Jesus that spoke; I know this because he has stopped and is beginning to look around.

Peter, one of his apostles, of whom have heard of in connection with him many times, looks almost as stunned as I do, though not so terrified. "You see the crowd all around you, pressing close, nearly smothering us for what it's worth," he says, his brow lowered with confusion, "and you say, 'who touched me'?"

Go, I tell myself, run; now! I can still get away. Jesus might not find me in this crowd.

I begin to turn, to leave, but I cannot. I find I am thinking suddenly of in the Scriptures when Jehovah God told Joshua not to be afraid or be terrified, to be courageous and strong. I will fling myself on God's mercy to be saved. He will show me mercy, I pray; and even if he does not, how does that excuse me from doing the right thing? Think of the three Hebrews who would not bow down to the golden image and were thrown into the fiery furnace. They said that even if God did not save them, they would not compromise their faith; they did not shrink back from doing what they knew was right. And neither will I.

Trembling as I have never trembled before, as if I am an earthquake intent on shaking my very soul to pieces, I throw myself down on the ground before the Christ. My voice is shrill with terror as my quivering mouth tells him everything.

My eyes are downcast. I will myself to look up at him respectfully.

There is an intense kindness in his face I was not entirely expecting, considering the law I had broken.

"Daughter," he says tenderly, bending down to my level so that we are eye to eye. "Your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Be in good health from your grievous sickness."

I smile. Tears fill my eyes. I cannot believe it. I want to shout out praises and thank him, but nothing will come out of my gaping mouth. The tears spill over; I am so grateful I can scarcely even breathe.

He stands up, and so do I.

Before I can go, I hear someone come running towards Jesus, shouting out Jairus's name. It is small group of men come to tell Jairus that his daughter has died and not to bother the teacher any longer.

"Have no fear," says Jesus to Jairus, at seeing his crestfallen face; "only exercise faith."

Knowing what faith in the son of God has done for me, I feel confident that it will help Jairus in the case of his beloved daughter as well.

And in the crowd I stand, watching, smiling through the tears that have dried on my face, as they vanish from my sight.

**AN: Well, that's it. Short, I know. But I felt it was a pretty emotional piece, regardless. Please review and share your thoughts on this!**


End file.
